Foley learns she is a Senior Dog

It was an average Saturday night.  I was surfing the Internet looking for images of dogs in submissive poses when I incorrectly pawed the search engine and found an article on how to care for your senior dog.  

I have never considered myself a senior.  I am young, spry, have a cutting edge sense of humor, I am down with the the snizzle, and can more than handle my four year old sister.  I am still in my prime.

But according to this article not only was I no longer in my prime, I was four years past.  I read in disbelief that dogs become Seniors at age seven.  I am close to lapping Senior.  What comes after Senior?  Senor Wences?  If you understand the reference, you are a Senior.

Something this article says that I do agree with is that I need more attention and care.  I should get more lap time.  I should get all the belly rubs.  Pocket is four.  She should spend her days hunting and gathering.  She is in her prime.  She should be giving me portions of her food.  She should hold my paw as I cross the street.  She should be checking on my during power outages and bad snow storms.


The article said that “ideally” I should be seen by a veterinarian every six months.  Yes, and “Ideally” I would have fresh chicken every night.  The person who said this is, of course, is a veterinarian who would cash in on these twice yearly pinching, prodding, and butt violating humiliations.  She is from up Smoochy’s way in Wisconson.  Her name is Stephanie Sosniak.  Now that’s a made up name if I ever heard one.  She is probably in the veterinary vetness protection program.  Probably misdiagnosed Gotti’s Goldy with gout.    If you take nothing else from this blog take this:  Seniors shouldn’t see Stephanie Sosniak.

The second paragraph dealt with dental care.  I am a very friendly dog who goes for many walks here in our village of the pruned.  Many of the pruned people bend down to rub me and talk to me.  Take my word for it:  We aren’t the ones with dental of breath problems.

Regardless I do get dental care frequently.  After much debate, whining, crying, and hiding we finally got Daddy out from behind the rocker to provide dental care.  Since neither Pocket or I will tolerate anything being jammed into our tiny mouths (unlike the dreaded thermometer we have a spray for our teeth.  We still hide whenever we see the spray bottle.  Daddy pulls back our lips and blasts our teeth the rubs it in while we are stunned from the spraying.  Frankly I find this to be a major violation and something that should be litigated.  But darn I’m so addicted to the minty fresh taste I’m ready to bathe with Whitney.  (If you think it’s too soon remember, I live in doggy time, and to me it’s been weeks.)

My parents need to monitor me for changes in behavior.  If I go from grumpy to b*tchy they should take notice.  They do watch for changes in my appetite and thirst which is a pain because some days I’m just thirsty.  I appreciate them watching over me but they do when I pee, poo, drink, eat.  Sometimes a lollipop just needs her privacy.


And stop worrying about my weight.  I weigh seven pounds.  People deliver babies bigger than that.  How something my size fits out of there, that I don’t know.

And then there is exercise.  I don’t mind.  But sometimes I just come to a full stop and get pulled for awhile.  I think it’s just me being ornery then me not wanting to walk.  But I am not chasing that stupid ball like Pocket.

So in summation here is what I took from the article.  I must accept that I am a senior dog and I need to make some changes.  I definitely need more attention.  But only the good kind, the more treats, the more food, the more laps, if I am in the mood the more exercise.  And I just can’t quit that minty tooth stuff.  But as for the weight and water and more vet appointments and watching me all the time back off.  I’ll let you know if there is a problem.

And remember, it is not nice to talk about a ladies’ weight or age.  I am just a well seasoned and mature lollipop and those are the best.